The full story
20 years ago
Hank and Marth Smith named the child John Smith and raised him up in the ways of Edo and practical living. Hank taught him pugilism and how to wield his mother’s knife and fire arms and the code of self defense. Martha taught him the lessons of Edo and the value of life and protection of the innocence. She bought him his first pairs of tinted glasses when they surmised early on that John’s eyes were weakest during sunlight hours.
On John’s 17th year he went out into the city to find work and make a name for himself as a man.
His prospects weren’t great from the onset because of his strange eyes and elvish appearance lanky body and quiet foot steps put people off and comsently got him into trouble to the point he could only make his living as at night as a pick pocket and night burglar.
He had a bet going with the other young thieves of the neighborhood that he could steal from the house of a Oricle her priced possession and not get caught.
John was a foolish young man thought oricles and seeing the future was horseshit so he bit right into the bet.
It was on his third house in the low district of Dove row that hit his abrupt pause in his thieving career.
It was late in to midnight when he stole his way into the house through a open window on the second floor.
John was a excellent climber and light on his feet as any young rogue of his profession. The house was clean and quiet. No signs of life inside only books and a few furniture items placed around the house.
Young John frowned at the filled book shelves easily reading the titles in the dark rooms. He had always had sharp eyes in the night but counter nearly blind vision in the daylight hours.
He searched the house looking for treasure or bank notes to steal and payment for his efforts. He found none. Only books and strange items he saw no value in.
He searched the downstairs ground floor up and down finding only a few bank notes on the kitchen table. He snagged two apples from the cobers for his trouble and a nice pair of jade tinted glasses set on a book about the tales of Styx Amoore. He read through the book and set it down only to pick up and headed for the back exit in the kitchen.
He saw a lady dressed in a white night gown sitting on the upper stairs smoking a thin cigar waiting for him.
John was more then a little shook by her appearance and direct stare at him. He dropped the book and held up his ebony dagger. “Don’t come any closer witch.”
The Oricle laughed softly. “I’m no witch sonny. I’m the owner of this house you came a thieving into. They call you John Smith. But that’s not your name.”